


We're Not Broken, Just Bent

by BaredWolf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Body Worship, First Time, M/M, Prayer, Sharing Clothes, Sweet, bottom!Dean, top!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-07 09:38:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/747032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BaredWolf/pseuds/BaredWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean doesn't realize exactly how simply prayer works, so Cas hears Dean's "alone-time" fantasies. When he finally tells Dean, Dean is mortified. But when they realizes the fantasies are shared, the two set to work on bringing them to life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're Not Broken, Just Bent

Dean had just finished showering, his hair still wet. He wandered to the kitchen in his bathrobe to acquire coffee before heading back to his room. Which was when he found an angel perched on the edge of his bed.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean tightened his grip on the mug, determined not to drop it in shock. A moment later, he realized his state of relative undress: he hadn’t bothered with clothing under the robe after his shower, although at least he had bothered to tie it. (Sam had taken exception the first time he’d wandered into the war room without bothering, bitching for a week about being traumatized.)

“Cas.” Succinct, an eloquence to the brevity. Great talk, Dean. But whoa, what was Cas doing here? And why had he showed up in Dean’s bedroom, specifically? Although, who the hell cared, it had been weeks of worry at this point and Dean was just really happy to see the guy in one piece. “What’s going on? Where have you been, man?” He had about a hundred more questions but it was probably best to skip the Spanish Inquisition impression; Dean didn’t think he could handle it if the guy up and vanished on him again.

“I had a job to do, I couldn’t leave it unattended until I knew it was secure. I came as quickly as I could afterwards. I’ve been hearing your prayers.” Dean nodded as he moved further into his room, letting the door swing shut on its own weight behind him. He set his coffee mug on his desk and perched his butt on the edge. Probably best to avoid sitting down right now: the robe was long, but he’d pretty much have to sit with his legs crossed to avoid flashing Cas. Nope, sitting was a no-go.

Dean realized Cas had been watching him intently for a few moments now, that curious tilt to his head. “All of them.” Cas narrowed his eyes slightly, as if he were trying to convey a deeper meaning behind these words, hoping Dean would pick up on it. But Dean was at a loss. He had prayed a few times: brief, simple prayers asking Cas to let him know he was okay, asking Cas to stay safe. He couldn’t think of anything that would merit the heated weight in Cas’ gaze. Dean gave him a confused expression and shook his head slightly.

“All of them?”

Cas sighed, frustrated that Dean wasn’t picking up on his clear-as-mud meaning. “Dean, prayer isn’t just folding your hands and closing your eyes, the mechanism doesn’t require ritual. You don’t even need to intend to pray, you simply speak my name as if talking to me, and that operates as a prayer. And I can hear it.”

Dean was still confused, trying to think of times other than when he had prayed that he’d said Cas’ name. “What, so like if I’m talking to Sam about you?”

“No, talking to someone else about me doesn’t work.” Cas rubbed at the back of his neck. “Rather often, when you were alone, here, you would...think of me. That was...what I heard.”

And Dean nearly fell over as he finally caught on to what Cas was saying. In here, thinking of Cas, but Dean didn’t think he was praying. “Cas, you perv, you’ve been listening to me jerk off?” As if this was Cas’ fault, like he was the pervert here, and Dean felt his face growing redder by the second.

“Dean. It wasn’t something that I could turn off.” Cas was blushing now too.

One of the most awesome things about having his own room was the lock on the door and some solid alone-time. And yes, he was a grown-ass man and not a teenager anymore, but he had been indulging with some enthusiasm recently. Having grown up in his father and brother’s pockets, never having any privacy, “the urge” was something he’d learned to take care of efficiently when he had the chance. And even then there was a solid chance someone would walk in on him, so some of his favorite methods were off limits. Because truth time: Dean loved the feeling of his fingers up his ass when he jerked off. It was his absolute favorite way to come. But your brother walking in on you with your hand on your dick was one thing. Your brother walking in on you with three fingers up your ass and a muscle mag open on the bed was a whole different animal. So the opportunity to really enjoy himself had come too rarely. Although with his preferred material recently, which apparently he had been a bit too vocal about, Sam should be the one who was grateful for the lock on the door.

“Oh.” _Oh._ If Cas couldn’t turn it off... _oh God,there’s no way he’d ever wanted to hear that, have I been basically mind-raping the dude?_ Dean was horrified as he recalled some of the more lurid of his fantasies; he felt his stomach attempt to take up residence in his toes. _Oh._ “Shit, Cas, I’m sorry, I...” But Cas was shaking his head, still blushing furiously, toying with his hands in his lap.

“I...I hadn’t realized you thought of me like that. The first time...well, it took me by surprise.” Cas gave Dean a little half-smile, then looked very guilty. “I wanted to let you know, because I understand that is considered private. You didn’t expect me to hear. But after a few times, I...” and Cas paused, played with his fingers again, as if he could use them to marshal his words into the proper order to convey his meaning, “I didn’t want to give it up. I am sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner. I guess that does makes me a perv, as you put it.” Cas had turned beet-red, his posture curled in on himself, as embarrassed and self-conscious looking as Dean had ever seen him.

Dean had no idea what an appropriate response to that kind of confession was. But he had a question, so he went with that. “You,” he swallowed nervously, “you mean you...liked it?” Dean tried to make the question devoid of judgment, and may have erred a bit too far on the side of hopeful. The angel got off on listening to him getting off: what did that mean? (At the same time, who the hell cared, that was hot as fuck.) Could it possibly mean...but Cas was still staring at his hands, not responding. “Cas, look, I had no idea, I didn’t mean to make you...listen,” Dean took a deep breath, “I’ll stop. I’m sorry.”

Cas looked at him like he had sprouted another head. “That is not what...Dean, you don’t have to stop.” Cas returned his eyes to his hands. “But tell me, do you mean it? Do you really want to do those things with me?” And Dean thought he couldn’t feel any more awkward, any more embarrassed, but the truth was that some of his fantasies had been fairly...creative. And yes, given the opportunity he’d do pretty much everything he had imagined with Cas. But when he was imagining it he neither knew that he had an audience nor ever expected those opportunities. He couldn’t look Cas in the eye, but managed mumble an affirmative. He felt like he was being incredibly childish about this. Mr. Smooth, that was Dean Winchester. He sighed and covered his face with his hands, too embarrassed to say anything else.

Cas rose from the bed and moved slowly, standing in front of Dean. Gently, he gripped Dean’s wrists to pull his hands away from his face. Dean met his eyes. He looked as if he couldn’t decide on a facial expression, but was generally experiencing a painful amount of embarrassment. “Dean. I ask because I realized that I want it. Perhaps it would be prudent to wait before involving those blue ropes,” and wow, did Dean ever remember that particular fantasy, “but, Dean, I did like it. I would like it.” Cas stopped and waited for Dean to call him names, to push him away and tell him that he hadn’t meant any of it. Instead Dean smiled slightly, as if testing the expression, before he adopted an expression of intense focus. He dipped his head slightly to touch his lips to Cas’.

“Really?” Dean had to ask, breathing the word against Cas’ mouth, because he was a hopeless masochist apparently. Dean Winchester did not get to have nice  things, and this was most definitely a Nice Thing. Cas, however, had decided that the time for discussion had ended, so he kissed Dean again, pressing his body along Dean’s and running a hand up to grip the back of his head in case Dean got any more ideas about talking.

Dean slid his hands under the lapels of Cas’ trenchcoat and attempted to remove it. But Cas was evidently so unfamiliar with the task of undressing that he managed to get his arms tangled in the coat, and Dean had to break the kiss to rescue him from the fabric prison. He smiled into his angel’s neck, sucked at his pulse point as he unbuttoned Cas’ jacket and shirt, kissed him deeply as he pulled off his tie. “Give me your hands.” Dean wasn’t taking any more chances with Cas’ clothing removal skills: he was suddenly glad he wasn’t wearing anything more complicated than a bathrobe. Although it was certainly making his enthusiasm about their current activities fairly conspicuous. He unbuttoned Cas’ shirt cuffs before untucking his shirttails and sliding his jacket and shirt off in one go, nipping at Cas’ neck. He helped Cas out of his undershirt (the angel tangling his arms again), before Cas sighed, blinked, and the rest of his clothing disappeared. Dean was startled: suddenly faced with a naked and equally enthusiastic Cas, he swallowed hard. Cas stepped closer and kissed him again, fingers fumbling with the belt on Dean’s robe. It fell to the floor as Cas pulled Dean to the bed, then lifted him up and laid him gently on the blankets.

Dean had definitely fantasized about Cas manhandling him. Often. He’d never had a partner who could easily move him around, could actually pin him if they chose. But he had no doubt that Cas could, and he found that unbelievably hot. Apparently Cas was had chosen a different fantasy for their first time, however, because Dean recognized the way he climbed onto the bed, crawling up to kneel between Dean’s legs. He knew exactly which fantasy (number three) Cas had selected to act out. He wondered if Cas knew this was one of his particular favorites.

“I liked this one best, I think.” Cas slid a hand up Dean’s chest as he spoke, leaned in to kiss him again. Cas’ cock pressed against Dean’s belly, fully hard already. Although there could definitely be too much of a good thing, Cas’ size was just on the right side of that line, and Dean shivered in anticipation. He ran his hands down Cas’ sides, up his back, over his shoulders, and down his arms as Cas licked and sucked at his neck, his jaw, his collarbones. The angel had been hiding a seriously fit form under that dumpy get-up all of these years, just as Dean suspected. He had a feeling, though, if he’d had confirmation of what was hiding beneath the layers that he might not have been able to hold out for this long. Because Cas was seriously, ridiculously hot. And Dean couldn’t stop touching, stroking, squeezing as he learned the body above him, claiming Cas’ mouth again, delving in with his tongue as the kiss deepened. Cas had one hand resting next to Dean’s head to support his weight, the other alternated between carding through Dean’s hair and stroking his jaw. Dean relaxed into the sensations, letting the anticipation build, letting the fantasy play out.

Cas shifted as Dean slid a hand between them, fingertips brushing himself, and then Cas, lining up their cocks to rub together. Dean slid his thumb over the head of Cas’, collecting the slick that had begun to build there. Cas moaned into his mouth, wanton and unabashed, so Dean did it again. This time, Cas growled and broke the kiss. He looked wrecked already: spit-slick lips and cheeks flushed pink, hair a disheveled mess, pupils blown wide. He seemed transfixed for a moment, then his eyes took on a mischievous glint and he slid his body down Dean’s, pausing to kiss at his sternum, nibble at his belly and hips, hands mapping the planes and contours of Dean’s torso. Cas licked a long stripe up his cock with a flat, hot tongue. Dean threw his head back into the pillow and moaned helplessly as Cas took him into his mouth, pinned his hips to the bed. The angel sucked him down, licking as he sucked back up, swirled his tongue around the head, plush lips wrapped tightly around him in an image of obscene beauty. Cas had clearly been doing some independent study on blowjob technique: ten seconds in and this already rated easily in Dean’s “top ten blow jobs ever” list. He ran his fingers through Cas’ hair as he continued, the suction and heat drawing desire to pool low in Dean’s gut. Too soon, Dean stopped him, determined not to finish like this. He met Cas’ eyes. If his lips were flushed before, now they were swollen. He groaned and pulled Cas up for another deep kiss.

“Do you want...” he started, hoping Cas still remembered how this fantasy went, hoping he was aiming in the same direction as Dean. Cas mashed his mouth back against Dean’s, clearly understanding the partial question, let his lips drag across Dean’s stubbled cheek before he growled against his ear, “lube. Where?”

So loquaciousness and coherency weren’t on the menu any more. That wasn’t exactly a problem for either of them. Dean reached over, nearly elbowing Cas in the chest in the process, fumbling a hand around in his nightstand drawer until he seized upon the lube and produced it with a triumphant expression.

In the process of opening the tube and spreading an unnecessarily large amount on his fingers, Cas also managed to drip it over Dean’s stomach and hips. A few drops landed on his cock, and he hissed at the sudden coldness. “Sorry,” Cas mumbled, trying to close the tube without success, considering he had so much trouble opening it and now his fingers were coated in slick lube. Dean smiled, meeting Cas’ self-deprecatingly amused smirk, and took the tube from Cas’ hands to get the cap back on enough that it wouldn’t leak. Next time, he thought, he was definitely buying the stuff with a flip top. And then he didn’t think at all, because Cas’ fingers were rubbing gentle circles around his hole, one fingertip pressing in, slowly breaching him. Dean took his own cock in his hand and stroked gently, spreading the lube around. He was going to be a serious sticky mess by the time this was over, and it was perfect. Cas was sliding that finger in and out now, adding a second, letting him adjust and then working them independently. He grazed Dean’s prostate, and Dean felt his muscles go lax as a wave of pleasure washed through him. Cas met his eyes, a smile played across his lips.

“This is like you wanted, right?” Cas asked, gently pressing in a third finger as Dean gasped “yes”. Yes, it was exactly what he wanted, although it was not what he had imagined: the concrete richness of reality, the unexpected moments, the fumbles. All of it combined to create a reality more fantastic than even Dean’s most elaborate fantasies.

Cas slid his fingers out, Dean tried not to wince at the loss. But then Cas was running his sticky hand over himself (and just how much lube had he managed to spill?) and lining his cock up against Dean. Dean relaxed, exhaled as Cas pressed against his entrance. The head of his cock slipped in, and Cas slowly slid his length into Dean. He couldn’t seem to decide between watching his cock disappearing inside Dean’s ass and watching Dean’s face as the sensation overtook him. Cas froze as he bottomed out, closing his eyes tightly and breathing through his nose. Dean tried to relax, not moving, letting Cas adjust to the intensity as the burn faded.

“Dean.” Cas was trying to control his breathing, slowly succeeding. He finally met Dean’s gaze with wide eyes. “Is it always this intense?” he whispered. Dean understood that he didn’t just mean the physical intensity. Dean reached up, cupped Cas face with his hands and pulled him in for a kiss. He groaned as the shift caused Cas to move slightly inside of him. “No, Cas, only when it matters.” Cas kissed him with fervor and began to move. Gently, slowly, he withdrew and pressed back in, repeating the motion, establishing a rhythm. Dean lifted his legs and wrapped them around Cas, hooking his ankles together.

He let Cas control the speed, rocking to meet his thrusts, consumed by the sensation and reveling in the sweet slow pace. He nibbled along Cas’ collarbone, one hand gripping his shoulder and the other running through his hair. Dean thought he might really be developing a thing for Cas’ hair like this, a wild mess of sweaty spikes fanned out like a sex halo. Cas moaned and mumbled against the top of Dean’s head as his pace increased slightly. He shifted the angle slightly so that every few strokes brushed Dean’s prostate, the first causing Dean to sink his teeth into Cas’ shoulder and hiss, the rest freeing low moans from his lips.

Cas slipped one hand under Dean, cupping his ass and lifting his hips, and _there_ , that was it: “Harder,” Dean growled, “harder, now, Cas.” And Cas didn’t need to be asked twice, his own need had built in time with Dean’s and the languid pace was no longer sufficient. So he thrust down into Dean as Dean stroked himself, buried his head in Dean’s neck, mumbling words in a language Dean did not understand. Dean felt his orgasam building rapidly, his balls drawing up tight as pleasure shot down his spine. He tensed as the first wave ripped through him,  shooting out hot against Cas’ chest, his own chest, coating his fist. Cas moaned as he felt Dean coming, gave a few stuttering final thrusts. He stilled, shuddering, buried deep in Dean as he came.

After, they lay in a sweaty heap, neither functional enough to move just yet. Dean peppered Cas’ forehead and hair with kisses, murmuring all of the sweet nonsense he had so desperately tried to express with his body. Cas wrapped his arms around Dean and held him tightly, kissed him deeply.

“Dean.” Cas had rolled off him, was curled against his side. He nosed at his cheek as he whispered “I’m glad I could hear you.”

Dean hugged him closer, pressed his lips to Cas’ forehead and murmured “Me too, Cas. Me too.”

When they both came down enough to realize the sticky mess they were, neither could figure out where Cas had mojo’ed his pants off to. So he borrowed a robe from Dean, and they snuck into the showers together.

Later, Dean would bend Cas over the nearest piece of furniture and take him roughly from behind. This was fantasy number six: Cas had borrowed Dean’s jeans, which rode low on his narrow hips. Cas had deliberately been flaunting an enticing strip of skin below the hem of his t-shirt. Without underwear beneath, the low-slung denim revealed the dips by his hip bones, the vee of muscle that narrowed towards the waistband, the dimples above his ass cheeks. After, Dean wondered if he might spontaneously combust if they ever got to try out fantasy number twelve.


End file.
